


this will be my beacon

by huldrejenta



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry Potter, Clubbing, Community: hd_erised, Curse Breaker Draco Malfoy, Draco and Harry work on a case together, Drinking, Frottage, H/D Erised 2018, M/M, Magical Artifacts, Minor Injuries, Misunderstandings, One Night Stands, POV Draco Malfoy, Pining, Post-Hogwarts, Post-Second War with Voldemort, but this isn't a case fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-06 18:38:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16838191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/huldrejenta/pseuds/huldrejenta
Summary: Draco and Harry spend one night together after the war, and when one of them sees it as the beginning of a relationship and the other one sees it as a one night stand, things do get awkward. Years later they're thrown together on a demanding case which brings old wounds back to the surface.





	this will be my beacon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Titti](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Titti/gifts).



> Dear titti, I had a great time writing this fic, and hopefully you'll enjoy reading it. Happy Erised! ♥
> 
> Many thanks to the mods for being wonderful and to the lovely Shaggydogstail for beta reading!

It's not as if Draco expects anything to happen.

He's not even supposed to be here. He had the entire evening planned, a perfectly nice evening consisting of sorting through some papers, trying out a new polishing spell for his cauldron collection and fire-calling Mother on her extended holiday in France. 

A lovely evening in Draco's opinion. 

But no, apparently that's too much to ask as long as Blaise Fucking Zabini is on a mission to ruin Draco's life. There is no other explanation for why Blaise insists on the two of them going out. To one of those wretched clubs with loud voices and pounding music with no other discernible purpose than producing dreadful headaches on anyone stupid enough to spend more than five minutes within its walls.

Blaise will not be swayed. 

"Come on, it'll be good for you," he says. "You're the oldest nineteen-year old I know," he says. "I'll stop by your place tonight and I expect you to be dressed to the nines," he says.

Draco very much doubts it'll be good for him. There's nothing wrong with being an old nineteen-year old anyway. He does, however, know Blaise well enough not to bother arguing. Which is how he now finds himself perched on a barstool in what’s supposed to be the hottest club in Diagon Alley. He’s tucked away in a dark corner, rubbing his temples against the headache that’s sure to be coming, watching crowds of witches and wizards flapping about while he’s nursing a drink of questionable quality. Blaise says it’s an outstanding drink, but what does he know.

“Stop moping, Draco. Spending one night out amongst people your own age won’t kill you.” 

Blaise is doing that broody thing he likes so much, a goblet hanging lazily from his long fingers as he leans back against the bar. His crisp white shirt is unbuttoned almost down to his navel, and fucking hell, what’s even the point of him wearing a shirt at all? 

“That’s hardly the issue.” Draco takes a sip of his drink, and _really_ , if this is what’s in vogue these days, it’s no wonder he usually sticks to drinking something from the extravagant wine cellar at Malfoy Manor. “Some of us actually do have better things to do than frequenting places like this. Why is yelling over the music to be heard and writhing around on the dance floor, hoping someone is going to notice you, the epitome of having a good time?”

Blaise takes a long sip before replying. “It’s called letting loose. Having fun. Enjoying some of life’s more carefree pleasures. You should try it every now and then.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” 

“Well, your body is. Your mind is, I suspect, stressing over the next test on your Curse Breaker training or some magical theory problem you think you should figure out tonight or something equally depressing.” Blaise gives him a slow half-grin to take the edge off his words. 

“You’re an idiot,” Draco says, just because. He is, after all, talking to Blaise Fucking Zabini, and Draco really can’t be arsed to have this conversation again right now.

“Pah,” Blaise says. “You love me.” 

Draco takes a sip of his hideous drink instead of replying. What Blaise said might be true, but that doesn’t mean he has to acknowledge it.

Blaise’s smile fades as he turns his attention to the dancing crowd, sharp eyes focusing on a beautifully dressed witch swaying on the dance floor in elegant movements. It doesn’t take him long to catch her eye. Soft swaying turns to dancing of a decidedly more sensual kind. She smiles, and Draco feels fairly certain that he won’t be seeing much more of Blaise tonight.

“It doesn’t hurt you to live a little, you know.” Blaise slaps a hand on Draco’s shoulder as he stretches and gets up from his barstool. He’s on his way to the dance floor, probably already wondering if he and the dancing witch will be going back to his place or hers. “Who knows, you might even have some fun. Join in or wait here if you want. I’ll be right back.” 

Draco highly doubts that as he watches as Blaise gets swallowed up by the crowd. 

Wonderful.

So there’s Blaise for you. Harassing Draco into coming with him to the club, only to disappear as soon as he sees something pretty dangling in front of him. It seems obvious by now the world has cursed Draco with a useless best friend.

The good news is that Draco no longer has any reason to stay here. 

He digs a hand into his pocket, searching for some galleons to pay for his drink. 

“Your friend already paid for it,” the bartender says (yells) once Draco has finally managed to get her attention.

Well then. Maybe Blaise is good for something after all. Might as well finish the drink before going home. Seems a bit rude not to if Blaise bought it for him, even if it tastes like shit. The prices at this place are fucking horrendous. 

He turns back to face the dance floor, spinning his glass between elegant fingers. The bass of the music is pounding through his body as he takes a sip, letting his eyes wander across the ever moving crowd. No sign of Blaise of course, but there are plenty of others enjoying themselves. Sweaty bodies crushing into each other. Lost in the flow of the pounding rhythm and the buzz of alcohol. 

Ridiculous. Unnecessary, inessential and oh, so predictable. There’s no reason for the sight to make Draco feel lonely. None at all. 

So it doesn’t.

He’s almost finished his drink when he’s startled by a voice in his ear.

“Looks fun, doesn’t it?”

On a basic level a voice is simply the sounds produced in the larynx and released through the mouth. Words are simply distinct elements of speech with meaning attached to them. They should under no circumstances hold the power to push the air out of Draco’s lungs and make him choke on his drink. Still, that’s what happens, embarrassingly enough.

He turns to find Harry Potter standing beside him, dressed in jeans and a black, ridiculously tight t-shirt with a print of some band Draco doesn’t recognise. 

“Potter,” Draco coughs. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, the usual.” Potter’s face has a cheeky quality to it, and his smile is of the kind that tricks you into thinking he’s pulling it out just for _you_. “Spending time with my friends. Dancing. Letting off some steam.”

“Right.” Draco wants to say more. Something about what’s up with everyone’s fixation with letting off steam. But Potter is standing way too close, looking all relaxed and in his element and stupidly handsome, so all that comes out is a disappointing, “Right”.

“I haven’t seen you here before,” Potter says. 

“Have you been looking?”

Potter laughs, a cheerful sound that does nothing to lower Draco’s heart rate. “Can’t say that I have, really. But I do notice when I bump into anyone from training outside of classes.”

“We don’t train together, Potter.” Draco puts his almost empty drink onto the bar and smoothes down his shirt.

Potter is laughing again. What’s with all the laughing all of a sudden? He’s usually so serious, focused. Almost stern. To see him like this, lose and lax and soft around the edges, is unsettling in a way Draco would not have anticipated. 

“I know. I’m not completely clueless, Malfoy. I actually do pay enough attention to know we’re on different training programs.” 

He steps closer, until his knees are nearly knocking into Draco’s. “I still see you around often enough that I’d think of it as meeting someone from training if I saw you in a club. And I haven’t. Before tonight.”

He steps back again, allowing Draco to breathe in the oxygen his body doesn’t seem get enough of. The volume of the music is turned up yet another notch, if that’s even possible, and Draco tells himself that being able to hear each other is the only reason Potter doesn’t step away very far.

“I suppose it’s just not my scene,” Draco says. “I prefer other ways to wind down.” He releases a weary sigh. “Tonight Blaise practically forced me to come with him. Apparently he thinks I need help to relax, which I most certainly don’t. And even if I did, there’s not much time to relax, is there?”

The two of them have bumped into each other from time to time during their training. Said hello in the hallways. Exchanged a few words while queuing in the cafeteria. Just enough to move forward from the inevitable... _awkwardness_ that was bound to be between them after everything. When they now were to spend time in the Ministry facilities where a lot of the training for both the Aurors and the Curse Breakers took place, the two of them seemed to take small steps to normalise the situation. Still, this is the most Draco has talked to Potter since... well, since Hogwarts.

Not for lack of a desire to.

Potter lets out a gust of air, another smile tugging at his lips. “Curse Breaker training is no less gruelling than Auror training, so I’d say Blaise probably has a point. You need a break from all the stress every so often. We all do.” 

He tilts his head to the side. Green eyes are intensely focused on Draco, and for some reason the club is starting to spin a bit. 

“I think it’s great that you’re doing what you do,” Potter says. “Training to be a Curse Breaker, I mean. Most Slytherins from our year seem to have more or less vanished from the public arena.”

“Hey,” Draco says, a little sharper than he intends to. “Not everyone has a burning desire to stick their heads out. There are other ways to fulfil your ambitions.” 

“I’m not saying there isn’t. I was simply paying you a compliment, Malfoy.”

“Huh,” Draco says, reduced to inanities by this surprising development. 

“So do you then?” Potter’s voice has lowered into something a bit more careful. Draco leans forward to catch the words coming out of his mouth. “Have a burning desire to stick your head out, I mean? Is that why you applied to the training program?” 

“Not particularly,” Draco starts. “I don’t think... It just...” He coughs.

There have been moments when Draco caught himself fantasising about this. Talking to Harry Potter about why he applied for Curse Breaker training. Of course in those fantasies he was his usual eloquent and confident self, having no trouble putting into words what is really just vague images floating around. Sitting in front of the very real Potter right now, he knows that fantasies are for suckers. There’s no way he’ll ever say anything even if he could find the words. There’s no way Potter would want to hear it anyway.

“I had to choose something, didn’t I?” 

Potter crosses and uncrosses his arms. He leans forward, he’s definitely too close. Draco clasps his hands together and tries to remember how to breathe. Potter looks way too good, the shape of his shoulders right in his eyesight. And if Draco is a bit more fascinated by Potter’s neckline and the way his hair curls above his ears than he probably should be, no one has to know. 

“Why do I get the feeling there’s more to the story than that?” Potter speaks right into his ear. Doesn’t even have to yell when he’s so close. “Why do I get the feeling that there’s more to you, you know, in general?” 

Draco shrugs. He’s not usually one to worry about his own self worth, or the way he’s being perceived by those outside of his closest circle. But there’s something about having Potter’s full attention that makes him want to measure up. 

Maybe parts of him have always wanted to.

“I suppose there’s more than meets the eye to all of us,” he says, lamely.

“Yeah, I suppose there is.” Potter takes a step back to meet Draco’s eyes. Draco is dizzy. His mouth is dry, but he can’t seem to make himself reach for his drink, forgotten at the bar. Not that it would do him much good, the stupid tasteless thing. 

“I feel like that’s one of the most exciting things about growing up,” Potter says. He sounds earnest and eager, like he’s figuring it all out this very second. “Getting to know people in a new way. Seeing us all change. It’s very cathartic, actually.”

Fuck, Potter must be drunker than Draco realised, talking like that. Draco didn’t even know Potter knew fancy words like ‘cathartic’. Had it been a few years ago, he most certainly would’ve delivered a snide remark or two about it. 

Now he’s more interested in watching Potter standing in front of him, one hand on his hip, the other waving around vaguely. His fifth year Hogwarts student self would’ve smacked himself in the head. Hard. 

“You know,” Potter says, tilting his head. Draco is completely unprepared for what comes next. “I kind of hated you in school.”

No shit. “I doubt there was anything _kind of_ about it.” 

Something awkward is escaping the cracks of Potter’s self-assured expression, or maybe the awkwardness is coming from Draco. This entire situation is surreal. Being inside this club, a steady drum beat and relentless bass line driving the ever-moving crowd frantic, with Harry Potter talking into his ear about hating him at Hogwarts. This is not what he signed up for when he went out with Blaise. Draco is barely hanging on by a thread, but he shakes it off. He’s perfectly capable of distinguishing between a drunk Potter sharing random memories from school, and a sincere Potter genuinely seeking Draco’s company.

Draco is simply not used to hanging out at clubs like this. That’s why he feels like he’s about to fall out of his own skin at any second. It must be.

“Well,” Potter says. “I don’t hate you anymore.” He bites his lip for a second before plunging in again. “I think it would be cool to get to know you. The person you are now. You’re... interesting.”

Draco breathes a long exhale through his nose. A young witch pushes into him on her way to the bar. She throws a quick, “Sorry” over her shoulder before trying to get the bartender’s attention, no longer providing Draco with an excuse to delay his reply. 

“You didn’t figure that out before now?”

Potter smiles, a crooked little thing that threatens to widen into something warm and big. “Are you saying I’m a slow learner, Malfoy?”

He steps forward and to the side, just a bit, until his thigh knocks into Draco’s knee. He’s pressed close to Draco, a little too close to be by accident. Draco can smell Potter’s cologne. He would be able to count the fine hairs on Potter’s forearm if he were so inclined. It’s dizzying and wondrous and utterly terrifying.

“No,” Draco says. “I may have thought you to be many things over the years, but a slow learner isn’t one of them.” His knee burns in the spot where it touches Potter’s thigh. A part of him wants to put as much space between them as possible. 

“I’m glad to hear it,” Potter says. “Maybe there’s hope for the two of us after all.”

Draco wants to fight him. He wants to throw a clever insult at him and arch his eyebrow in disdain. He wants to find refuge behind familiar patterns of spite and animosity. 

It’s tried and true, and barring the odd small talk at the training facilities this last year it’s the only pattern he knows when talking to Potter. And yet, stronger than Draco’s natural urge to fight him, he finds the desire to... move forward. To meet this open and friendly version of Potter halfway. 

Looking too closely at the reasons why he wants to would probably reveal a thing or two he’s not ready to examine. Clumsily he unclasps his fingers, finally reaching for his drink. He abandons the movement when Potter leans closer, right into his personal space. It’s a small movement, nothing really, but it turns Draco’s insides upside down.

“Is that...” 

Potter hesitates, for the first time since this bizarre conversation started. “Is that something you’d be interested in finding out?”

Draco stares hard at the print on Potter’s t-shirt. If he reaches out he can wrap his hand around the curve of Potter’s shoulder and pull him down. Not that he’d ever do it. But he could.

And that’s the moment when Blaise has decided it’s a good time to check up on his friend. 

“Having fun?” he says, having turned up out of nowhere, gloriously oblivious to Draco’s inner chaos. Apparently he’s also oblivious to Draco’s current company. From the corner of his eye Draco can see Potter taking a swift step back while Blaise is standing on Draco’s other side, hands on his hips and his back to the crowd. 

“I’m in desperate need of another drink,” Blaise says. “Something strong, preferably. That witch I danced with? A complete arse, she was. Obviously didn’t know who I am and started going on about how they should abolish Slytherin House at Hogwarts and all that crap. Don’t know why she thought that was a good topic for a nice flirt, but I’m not going to stand around and listen to nonsense like that. No matter how pretty she is.”

He waves for the bartender, turns around to say something else, and that’s when he notices Potter. 

“Oh. Hello, Potter,” he says, expression surprised for a second, but he recovers remarkably well. “Enjoying a night out?”

“Zabini,” Potter says with a nod. “How are you these days?”

“Pretty well, actually, I’m not complaining. Enjoying my life of leisure for now. Not all of us can be training for heroic careers like the two of you.” 

“I don’t know about heroic,” Draco says, stupidly embarrassed to be mentioned in the same breath as Potter and weirdly proud, throwing in a shrug for good measure.

“Just saying it like it is.” Blaise looks from Potter to Draco and back again, a half smile lurking at the corners of his mouth, itching to be released. “Funny seeing the two of you talking, by the way. Was I interrupting something?”

Draco is struck with a sudden urge to hide his face in the collar of Blaise’s shirt. He’s no longer a child, which is the only reason why he doesn’t. Because Blaise is the one person Draco has confided in. The only one that knows about his stupid, stupid, encompassing dream about Harry Potter, and Blaise Fucking Zabini knows very well that for Draco there’s nothing casual about sitting on his barstool, having a shouting conversation with Potter. Nothing at all.

Potter shifts from one leg to another and looks amused. Calm and confident and fucking _amused_ as if the situation is mildly entertaining and nothing like standing at the edge of a cliff, wondering how harsh the landing will be if he dares to jump. Draco feels like throwing up. 

“Actually, Zabini,” Potter says, “you kind of were. Interrupting something. No offense, I’m certain it’d be great to catch up with you as well.”

“Goodness, none taken.” Blaise throws Draco a look, and Draco gets it, okay. He gets how important this moment it, he gets that maybe Potter isn’t as nonchalant about this as he lets on, he gets that Potter seems interested in... something. 

“I’ll leave you guys to it then,” Blaise says, gulping down the rest of Draco’s drink instead of waiting to order his own. “I think I saw another witch eying me. Maybe she’s nicer than the Slytherin hater I danced with earlier.” He pats Draco’s shoulder, sends a deliberate look Potter’s way and disappears back into the crowd. 

“Protective of his friends, is he?” Potter nods in Blaise’s general direction. 

“He’s actually an idiot,” Draco says, folding his arms. “Don’t know how he manages to be an idiot and the best friend ever at the same time.”

“Yeah, well,” Potter hums. “There’s a lot of people out there thinking the same way as that witch Zabini talked to. I might even have been one of them to some extent. I get why he worries.”

“What made you see the light?” There’s a slight tremble hiding in Draco’s voice, but he’s pretty certain anyone would have to know him really well to notice.

Potter steps closer, and Draco can’t stop the swooping in his belly when there’s a smile on Potter’s face. It’s even warmer than the smile he usually wears, and it’s ever so easy to imagine that smile is for him alone.

“Like I said, we all grew up. Doesn’t seem fair to judge people based on choices that when it comes down to it were mostly made by others.”

“How very noble,” Draco says in the most sceptical voice he’s able to muster. 

“I don’t know about noble,” Potter says while leaning into Draco’s thigh, “but I like to think I’m a nice guy. A nice guy who’d like to get to know you better. If you’d be okay that.” 

So they’re back to this again. Only now that Blaise has been here, has talked to Potter and clearly shown that he sees what’s happening, it’s somehow different. Not that Draco needs Blaise’s approval, but the entire situation becomes more... real. More within reach. More like something Draco can actually have.

Oh God.

“I’d be okay with that,” he says. The conversation feels like a peace offering, an agreement, but it’s also more than that. So much more. “I’d be very okay with that.”

“That’s... wonderful,” Potter says, gently placing a hand on Draco’s shoulder. “Let’s get out of here, shall we?”

Later in life, when this night is over and safely tucked away in the part of Draco’s heart reserved for particularly vulnerable memories, what happens next seems to be in a blur. He won’t remember what they talk about after they leave the club. He won’t be able to recall what he’s offered to drink once they’ve Apparated to Potter’s flat, relishing in the quiet after the noisy club. He won’t be able to tell what Potter says when pulling Draco closer to him and into an improvised slow dance on the living room floor.

But he will never forget how warm Potter’s breath is on his lips as they both lean in. How he stops for a second, shoving down nervousness twisting in his belly, because _this is really happening_. How Potter kisses with no hesitation, gripping Draco’s jaw, and how the need to touch, to get closer, to taste everything Potter is willing to give blooms in him like a fever. Draco is helpless to fight it.

Adrenaline is skittering through his veins when Potter runs his hands over Draco’s shoulders, his back, his hips, heart pounding as he bites back a moan. He’d have thought he’d be scared, because he’s _never done this before_ and this is bloody _Harry Potter_. But he’s not scared. Instead it’s like watching a chaotic puzzle falling into place, it’s like that one nagging thing in his life that’s never made sense and now it finally is. 

Like at long last figuring out how to fasten an intricate magical buckle on your new cloak, the one that keeps you safe and warm and protected. Click.

“You’re shaking,” Potter says. 

“So are you.” Draco isn’t even sure if it’s true, can’t decide if the shivers he feels are coming from Potter or himself. Maybe it’s both. 

“Can I,” Potter says, sliding his hands down Draco’s shirt, pulling at the hem so it slips free from his trousers. Draco replies by unbuttoning it, wringing it off in front of a wide-eyed Potter. 

“Off,” Draco says, thumbing down the contours of Potter’s hips, tugging at the fabric of his clothes. Draco is hard against his trousers, unbelievably so for someone who’s only been at it for a short minute. Arousal shoots through his veins, it devours him, but at the same time it’s insignificant compared to the relentless bubble of joy in his chest. 

Somehow they’ve moved to the bedroom. Draco finds himself on his back in Potter’s bed with Potter hovering over him, kissing down Draco’s neck while wriggling out of his trousers, his shirt, his pants. The world is nothing but this: the flutter of Potter’s eyelashes against his throat, soft slide of cool sheets against his skin, breathless kisses he never wants to end. 

Soon they’re both naked, pulling at each other while all these _feelings_ are tightening his heart. Draco’s fingers are sliding through Potter’s hair, suppressing a sudden urge to laugh in his happiness. He’s dizzy with how much he wants this, wants everything with Potter, ridiculous annoying brave wonderful Potter, who looks at him like he’s a mystery to be unravelled. 

“God, I want you,” Potter says, and then, “I’m going to call you Draco now, okay? This does seem like a first name kind of moment.” 

Draco laughs then, blinks once, twice, and he doesn’t have tears in his eyes, thank you very much, it’s just the bright light in here. 

“I suppose I can allow it,” he says, “Harry.”

And he might have revelled in this a while longer, in how much this little thing affects him, using each other’s given names. But then Potter – Harry – throws his thigh over Draco’s waist and slides his hand down Draco’s back and up again, and Draco is a mess, the best kind of mess. 

He presses into Harry’s soft skin, trying to melt into him. Harry is doing highly effective things with his hands in places where Draco has never been touched before, in places he never knew he craved to be touched. He never knew he loved having his nipples played with or his belly kissed or his thighs caressed. He never knew the power of making Harry gasp and moan and shudder in delight. 

He’s imagined plenty. But never known. Not before now.

Afterwards, when they’re lying flushed against each other, tucked in back to front, and Draco can hear Harry’s heartbeat settling down while sleep is pulling at him, Draco feels more grounded than he has in a long, long time. 

And right now he dares to think it – this could be the start of something wonderful.

Draco wakes up to soft sunlight pouring in through the bedroom window. He can hear someone rummaging around in the kitchen and the muffled sound of spells for heating tea water and mugs to appear on the bench top. 

_Harry._ He can hear _Harry_ rummaging around in the kitchen. He can smell Harry in the bed sheets, he’s still got tracks of semen on his belly, and Harry is out there making them tea. Draco stretches his entire body and lets loose a huge smile on his face.

“Good morning,” Harry says when Draco walks into the kitchen, handing him a mug. His feet are bare but otherwise he’s fully dressed, making Draco self conscious for a second about his own naked upper half. He shrugs it off. Harry has seen far more intimate parts of him just a few hours ago. And kissed. And licked. And touched.

“Thank you.” Draco hides his smile in his mug when Harry looks at him, drinking his tea in slow sips. 

“So,” Harry says. “Last night was a surprise, wasn’t it? A nice surprise! But yeah, I didn’t see this coming.”

“Well.” Draco sits down by the kitchen table. Harry’s got those rough, wooden chairs with soft cushions in bright green. For some reason Draco finds it endearing. “It was a surprise to me too.”

His wit and his way with words have apparently taken a momentarily leave of absence because he swears he’s usually a lot smoother than this. 

Harry doesn’t seem to notice, he’s finished his tea and sends the mug to the sink with a flick his wand. 

“Are you staying for breakfast? I don’t actually do this often enough to have a the-day-after routine, but there’s no reason why two people shouldn’t have breakfast together after spending one night together, not unless they turn out to be utter pricks.” He turns to Draco with a playful grin on his face. “And as weird as it might be, you weren’t an utter prick. So. You’re welcome to stay if you’re hungry. Unless you’re busy, of course.”

“Uhm, no. I’m not busy. Breakfast sounds good.” 

Draco swallows. Something is wrong here. But there’s little time to think it over because Harry keeps talking while he’s whipping out some eggs and sausages and beans, the toast already lying on the plates. 

“You know, I‘ve wanted to get to know you better since we started training. I didn’t necessarily mean it quite as literally as last night, but there you go. But I think it’d be nice to keep talking. We might not ever become close friends, but I hope we can be... I dunno, friendly acquaintances?” 

Harry looks up from scrambling what looks like an enormous amount of eggs and meets Draco’s eyes. “Unless you’d feel weird about that? After tonight, I mean?” 

“I don’t... No, no. I don’t feel weird...” 

Draco stops to clear his throat, which turns into a cough that lasts just a little bit too long.

“Are you okay?” Potter steps forward and slaps him in the back, as if that ever helps with anything. And no, Draco is not okay. He’s very far from okay. He’d been stupid enough to think that Harry was in the same place as he was. In a flash he remembers something Father always says, that he must never let anyone mess with his head. Staying aloof is the Malfoy way, but Draco has never been very good at it.

Harry is so beautiful. Draco looks away.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. I just remembered.... I’ve got plans, actually. With Blaise. Now.”

“Oh.” Harry looks disappointed, just a little, before returning to his eggs. “Okay. I’ll let you get dressed then.”

Draco practically runs into the bedroom, where his shirt and his socks are still lying strewn on the floor. He’s shaking when he pulls his clothes on, of course he bloody is, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to give into it. 

“I’ll see you around then,” he says when he’s ready to leave, rigid and stiff. 

“Yeah, I suppose so.” Harry walks over to Draco and hugs him, lets his hand linger on his arm, and it’s tearing Draco to pieces, _please please please stop it._ “I had a lovely time.”

Draco gives himself a moment to take in the way Harry looks at him. He’s focused and intent, and it’s so very easy to believe it’s a look he’s pulling out for Draco specifically.

Well, no more of that. 

“I had a good time as well,” he says before heading out of the flat, closing the door behind him.

“Goodbye, Harry,” he whispers and walks out, into the fucking sunshine.

**Five years later**

The day starts most promisingly. He eats a delicious breakfast, perfectly balanced between nutrition and taste, even treating himself to a couple of chocolate biscuits. He’s never really grown out of his love for sweets, and after a long week with hard work and several solved cases he sees little reason to hold back when his jar full of biscuits looks particularly tempting. 

Flooing into the familiar hallway and walking into the Ministry Atrium, Draco’s good mood is still with him as he’s greeting a few colleagues on his way to the Office for the Removal of Curses, Jinxes and Hexes. He grabs a cup of coffee from the café, looking forward to a well deserved weekend, not really expecting any demanding new assignments today after all the overtime he’s pulled during the week. 

His good mood vanishes into thin air the second his boss has announced today’s work load to the few Curse Breakers coming in today.

“Are you serious?” Draco says, more to himself than anyone else, because he knows by experience that Head Curse Breaker Rakepick is nothing but serious when it comes to work matters. The one thing he’s managed to avoid while working here is now about to become reality.

“I most certainly am. You’re our most qualified person for this task, no one else here has much experience working with Aurors,” she says, nodding towards the clock on the office wall. “Time is of the essence, Malfoy, so off you go now. Tick tock.”

She waves him off, and he might’ve been annoyed by her unusually sharp dismissal if not for the fact that far worse challenges lie ahead. 

He desperately needs another cup of coffee to get through this day, and he’s damned well going to get one, even if he’s already running late. Being assigned to work with bloody Harry Potter. He can’t fucking believe it. All his manoeuvring to avoid this exact thing, to avoid talking to Potter at all to be honest, now seems to have been for naught. For the most part it hasn’t been very hard to avoid him. It’s not all that often the Curse Breakers work together with the Aurors, and when it happens, Draco has usually known about it long enough in advance to get himself assigned to other cases. 

And now this stupid case is being thrown his way like lightning from a clear sky. He can feel himself clenching his fists for a moment, grinding his teeth without meaning to.

There’s no other choice than to get on with it though, so he calms himself the best he can, breathing deeply and swallowing down the bile. He's promised himself a long time ago that he'll be the best damned Curse Breaker working at the Ministry, that he'll do a great job on every case. That he'll prove anyone who's ever doubted him wrong. There's no way he's going to let Potter of all people ruin that.

His assigned partner for this case is sitting by the cubicle wall when Draco arrives at the Auror Headquarter, with his back towards him and seemingly unaware he’s got company. There are papers and parchments strewn on the desk, a few photos hanging crookedly on the wall and a half eaten apple lying on a plate. 

Draco is glad he’s grown into a much more mature person over the years, one that doesn’t hold grudges and doesn’t worry about old wounds. Being dragged into what might turn out to be a demanding case when he was ready for the weekend is the only reason why he’s feeling irritated. 

If he keeps saying it to himself with enough fervour he might start believing it.

“Starting without me, Potter?”

Harry Potter turns on his chair, looking alarmingly dapper in his Auror uniform. 

“Malfoy!” he says, sounding way too chipper for someone with this amount of paper work lying around. “I didn’t know I’d get the honour of ever working with you. To tell you the truth I was beginning to believe you were avoiding me.”

Well. Apparently Potter isn't one for beating around the bush. Draco has in fact been quite inventive with his manoeuvring from time to time to avoid being paired with Potter. Not that he’d ever admit as much to anyone, least of all Potter himself.

“Now why would I want to avoid you?”

Potter shrugs. “I don’t know. I’ve just noticed that there are always other Curse Breakers being assigned to work with me. And it’s not _that_ many of you working at the Ministry.”

“A coincidence, I assure you,” Draco says, eager to change the subject. Stay professional, he reminds himself. He’s got this. 

He points at the parchments lying on Potter’s desk. “Are those about the case?”

The look in Potter’s eyes implies he’s not completely satisfied with Draco’s reply, but thankfully he lets it go. 

“Yep,” he says, popping the ‘p’ and sending a small stack Draco’s way with a flick of his wand. “How much do you know about this case?”

“Not much, to be honest. Head Curse Breaker Rakepick said it’s a case the Auror department has been working on for a while, and that there are Dark Magic Artefacts involved. Apparently a cursed object has recently been linked to the case, is that correct?”

“It is,” Potter says, doing a quick _Accio_ to summon a couple of mugs into his hands. “Can I get you anything? Tea, coffee, water perhaps?”

“No, no, I’m fine. I’ve had more coffee already than I usually drink in a day.” He can hear how curt his voice is and he clears his throat. No one says he has to be friendly, but he’s a professional, damn it, and he’s going to act like one. “Don’t let me stop you though, you go ahead.”

But apparently Potter isn’t thirsty either. He puts the mugs down, pushes his glasses up his nose and goes straight to business. 

“We’ve been investigating a group of suspected Neo Death Eaters the last couple of weeks. They’ve seemed to be more shouting than substance, actually. You know, giving us the impression of a bunch of bored teenagers who enjoy stirring up trouble and fancy themselves very important when they use spells they don’t understand or when they dig up old ceremonies from dusty tomes. We've believed them to be playing with fire, yes, but quite helplessly so.”

“I’m guessing that’s changed?” 

“It has.” Potter takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes for a second before continuing. He looks tired. 

“Things have changed rapidly during the past week or so. We have four instances of people being cursed in their own homes, quite nasty curses too. The four victims are all friends or family of people who were leading the fight against Voldemort in various ways, that’s the one link we’ve found between them. And only yesterday Ron – Auror Weasley, I mean – was investigating the most recent attack. When he searched the crime scene, he found an object of particular interest. It was so easily visible he suspects it was planted there for him to find. It’s a well known Dark Magic Artefact, but this one seems to be cursed beyond what you’d expect. If Neo Death Eaters are attacking people and using cursed objects with added layers of Dark Magic, it no longer looks like we’re dealing with bored kids. At least not only that.”

Draco swallows down the mounting discomfort that always grabs him whenever a case deals with Death Eaters and their legacy. He’s perfectly aware of how strange his situation is, having the history that he does while working on cases like this, or at the Ministry in general to be honest. There’s nothing to be done about it though. Sentiments will get him nowhere, and he’ll be damned if he’ll let them stop him from excelling at what he does.

“What kind of object are we talking about?”

Potter gets to his feet and motions for Draco to follow him out of the cubicle. 

“I’ll show you,” he says, leading them out of the Auror Headquarter, quickly walking down the hallway, before he stops in front of a heavy door that appears to be locked. He does a few intricate wand movements and the door opens, revealing a room full of boxes and cartons and containers of all kinds, shelves full of them in a complete chaos. 

“This is where we keep all objects of interest to our cases,” Potter says while locating the right box with his wand.

“Really? I’d never have guessed,” Draco says, because professional or not, this is Potter after all, and no one is here to hear them anyway.

Potter snorts but doesn’t seem particularly annoyed. “Well,” he says, gingerly placing a non-descript box on an empty shelf, “this is what Ron found yesterday.”

Potter waves his wand again, and the lid flies off. Inside lies an innocent-looking object, a shiny rectangle no bigger than Draco’s hand.

“A Dark Curio,” he says, itching to start exploring the layers of spells that might be there. “Have you examined it?”

“Only briefly,” Potter says. “There was so much resistance in the object with only the mildest Revelio Charm used against it that the team thought it best to bring in a Curse Breaker.”

“Quite,” Draco hums. He lets his wand hover above the object, immediately sensing the resistance, but no outright hostility. He tries a few basic, non-invasive spells, opting for cautiousness. It’s not the first time Draco has worked with Dark Curios, and he’s well aware of the dangerous kind of curiosity these objects are designed to evoke. Still, there’s nothing about the initial examination that gives him any answers about what they're dealing with here. He lets his hand glide in the air, a couple of inches above the object, and as he senses no danger in doing so, he lays his hand on top of the Curio. Draco has always preferred to touch the items he's working with as long as it's safe; he finds it easier to retrieve information that way.

Just like he expects, nothing happens. 

But then Potter stirs beside him. “Do you feel anything?” he asks, his voice having lost the almost detached professionalism from just seconds earlier. Now he sounds eager. Urgent. Draco recognises what’s about to happen, but there’s no time to react before Potter has put his own hand beside Draco’s. They’re both touching the Dark Artefact.

A quiet cry of instant horror forms in Draco’s head, but he’s not able to release it before an explosion of cracks and colours and roaring thunder surrounds him.

And then it all turns dark. 

Everything hurts. Not as if he’d been beaten or fallen down or been given a nasty hex. This pain is of the deep-rooted, aching kind, as if he’s been running for days, or like he’s having a really bad flu with no potions to relieve the symptoms. 

With what feels like a massive effort, Draco opens his eyes. It’s too dark to see much, but he can tell right away that something is very wrong. Dread is pooling low in his belly, settling instantly even though there’s nothing to suggest imminent danger from what he can sense around him. Rapidly rising panic is still gripping his throat, making his breath fast and shallow, and he feels only seconds away from throwing up.

It’s like something is... missing.

“Overview,” he whispers to himself, pushing down the nausea and struggling to control his breathing as the basic principles from his training are flickering through his mind. “First, get an overview of the situation. Then evaluate.” 

He sits up, gingerly, grinding his teeth together from the strain. As his eyes are getting used to the darkness, he’s slowly taking in his surroundings. The first thing he observes is stone and rock. Lots of it. He ignores how his hands are trembling and lets them carefully glide across the ground. It’s cold and moist and uneven, and he suddenly realises that he’s sitting in a small pool of water.

Of course he bloody well is.

He stumbles to his feet, trying to ignore that he’s shivering from the cold, and instinctively checks that his wand is where it’s supposed to be. Holding the wand securely in his hand grounds him, just enough for him to take a deep breath, in and out.

 _”Lumos,”_ he says, ready to take in his surroundings to try and learn what’s going on.

Nothing happens.

He tries again, then again, his voice increasing in volume with every attempt, but the result stays the same. 

Draco is not one to panic when faced with danger, not since he started working at the Ministry. It’s like he’s already been witness to the most horrid things anyone could throw his way during the war. Deciding to apply for Curse Breaker training in spite of the hostility he might face for his last name and for his role in the war, is one of the hardest things he’s ever done. It changed him. And since then he’s always been proud of his ability to keep calm when stakes are high.

But now, failing at a Charm he’s been mastering since he was eleven years old, ice-cold terror is settling in his veins. He tries again, making certain his wand movements are precise and correct, enunciation more careful than it’s been in years. Nothing changes, not the tiniest spark of light erupts from his wand, and it’s all terribly wrong. Wrong and... empty.

That’s when he hears quiet shuffling behind him, somewhere in the dark. Someone – or something, no, no, brain, don’t go there – releases a low groan, as if just waking up. Draco can hear muted swearing and someone trying to get to their feet from the sound of it, and then – 

“Is that you, Malfoy?”

For the first and probably the only time in his life, Draco feels nothing but instant relief by the sound of Potter’s voice. It’s not very professional of him, being happy that a fellow human being is with him in what might very well be a dangerous situation, or at least an unpleasant one. But he is. The stifling emptiness in the air scares him more than he likes to admit, and he’s grateful that he doesn’t have to figure everything out all alone.

Even if it the company is Harry Potter.

“Where are we?” 

Potter’s voice is closer now, and soon Draco can see him, one wobbly step at a time. 

“I see that being mysteriously flung from the Ministry of Magic and into the great unknown hasn’t stopped your habit of asking stupid questions, Potter. How am I supposed to know where we are, I woke up one minute before you did.”

It feels good to resort to bickering, and it feels good to conveniently ignore that Potter has no way of knowing how long Draco has been awake. For a second it takes focus away from the harsh reality – that he’s cold and wet, with no idea where he is, unable to perform a simple _Lumos_. 

“Looks like we’re in a cave or something,” Potter says, ignoring Draco’s remark and opting for taking a look around. He pulls out his wand and mumbles a quick, _”Lumos”_. 

Draco holds his breath, eagerly watching the tip of Potter’s wand. But Potter doesn’t have any more success creating light than Draco did a few minutes earlier.

“What the...” says Potter, confusion colouring his voice as he tries a couple of times more. “Did something happen to my wand when we were transported here? It feels unharmed, but it’s not... it’s not working.”

“You didn’t damage your wand, Potter. Not unless something on the way here damaged mine as well.”

Draco has grown accustomed enough now to the semi-darkness that he can tell Potter is watching him with big eyes, gesturing for him to continue.

“Mine isn’t working either.”

Potter remains very still for a few seconds, and then he’s spurred into action. 

“Let’s try some other spells.” He launches into what would look like a Hogwarts student rehearsing their homework had the situation been less ominous, trying everything from _Accio_ and _Sonorus_ to _Homenum Revelio_ , all done with the utmost care and attentiveness. He even goes for an _Expecto Patronum_ before slowly lowering his wand. 

“Can you do any wandless magic?” Draco says. “So we can decide if it’s a wand problem or something else?”

Potter bites his lip. “Not all that much to be honest, but I can try.”

He scrunches his face in concentration, but there’s nothing there, no spark of magic to be seen or felt anywhere.

“Well then.” Potter’s voice sounds calm, but there’s a shiver hidden somewhere underneath. Draco is almost relieved that he isn’t the only one being affected by the strange atmosphere of this place. “What do you think we’re dealing with here, Malfoy?”

Draco pulls a face and takes a deep breath, doing his very best to focus and stay coolheaded and professional. 

“To put it bluntly, it seems we’re unable to do magic. But there are so many unknowns here. I mean, has something been done to us, or is it this particular place that stops our magic? Either way, it was the Dark Curio that brought us here. If the Neo Death Eaters were the ones turning it into a Portkey, who was it meant for? It hardly makes sense that they themselves wanted to go to a place that blocks magic. If that’s what’s even happening.”

“There’s something I really don’t like about this place, though.” There’s a pause, where Potter seems to freeze for a moment. “Whatever this place is for or why ever we ended up here, it doesn’t mean anything good.”

Draco has been mulling something over in his mind, trying to grasp and make sense of something he’s not able to put his finger on. The two of them stand in silence for a minute, and then it hits Draco.

The steady thrum of magic that he never gives any thought to because it’s always been an integral part of him, quietly floating through his body, is simply no longer there. 

It scares him more than not being able to perform the Charm did. He’s actually sensing his magic gone, and it gives him a nauseating taste in his mouth, making him feel naked. Unprotected. Almost like he’s a different person.

“Fantastic,” he says, his fear and discomfort twisting his insides and brushing away his resolve to stay professional. “I can’t tell you how useful it is to end up here with an Auror. Brilliant investigating there, Potter – _‘it doesn’t mean anything good’_ – those three years in Auror training really paid off. I never would’ve thought of that myself.”

“Well excuse me for not having simple answers after being here for ten minutes.” Potter is annoyed now, crossing his arms and taking a step closer. Good. An annoyed Potter he can deal with. He’s not so sure about everything else.

“Besides,” Potter continues, “I’d say that with the cursed object that brought us here, this is just as much a Curse Breaker’s area of expertise, if not more, and I don’t see you coming up with any theories at all."

“I would if you’d just shut up for a minute and let me think in peace.” 

Draco regrets the words the second they’re out. Not so much for fear of insulting Potter, that’s pretty much like stepping into a familiar pattern that might not be ideal, but hardly worth much regret. But even surrounded by the stifling _non magic_ in the air, which seems to slow down his thoughts and create irrational panic right under the surface, he’s got enough wits about him to realise one thing: they’ll have to work together to get out of this mess. 

So perhaps toning down the insults just a smidge might be a good idea, hideous concept as it is.

“Maybe we should have a look around first, to see what kind of place this is. Then we’ll know more about what we’re dealing with here. Hopefully.”

Potter looks like he’s biting down a snappy retort. He soon seems to realise that gathering all the information they can get is actually the sensible way to go here. 

Weird that Potter didn’t come to that conclusion earlier considering he probably still spends a lot of time with Granger. Doesn't seem like she's rubbed off onto Potter much.

“Fine,” he says, letting his arms down. “What's the best way to do this?”

They decide it’s safest not to split up. There’s no way to know what they’ll encounter, and when being stripped of their magic and their most powerful weapon of defence, it makes sense to stay together even if they cover less ground that way.

And if Draco is secretly relieved he doesn’t have to venture into these unknown surroundings all by himself, there’s no need to say that out loud. 

Their eyes have adjusted to the dark quite well by now, but they still need to take slow and careful steps on the slippery, uneven ground, trying their best to avoid the ponds and sharp edges. They are indeed in a cave, like Potter suggested. A big, rocky cave with water dripping from the ceiling, but beyond that there’s nothing much to be found. The emptiness of the air seems to translate to the cave itself.

It takes them a minute to locate the exit, and when they do, they realise why the cave is so dark. The exit is a narrow opening leading to a tunnel, winding its way in what seems like a spiral before they’re finally out in the open air. 

Draco takes a deep breath before doing anything else, only now realising just how stifling the air inside the cave was. It’s wonderful to breathe in fresh air, and he enjoys it for a whole three seconds before disappointment hurries to place itself beside the fear that’s already settled in his belly. He had hoped, during every step they took while exploring the cave and finding their way outside, that the problem would be solved once they got outside. That their magic was no longer blocked outside of the cave and they would be able Apparate their way back to London, or at least to a place with the bare minimum of civilization. 

And now that hope is gone. No trace of magic is rekindling in his bones or his spine or wherever the fuck magic is hidden. Everything feels as dead as ever, and Draco can’t even be bothered to watch when Potter makes a few attempts, both with and without his wand. Instead, Draco looks around, taking in their surroundings with sharp eyes.

Nothing about what he sees is helping to lift his spirits in any way. 

“Looks like it won’t be easy to just trudge out of here,” he says. 

Potter is done experimenting with his magic or lack thereof, having finally given up. “Looks like it,” he says, letting his eyes glide over the view from where they’re standing near the entrance of the cave. 

They're standing in the bottom of a valley, a very deep and very narrow one. More like a ravine. Even though there's still daylight, the air is dull and grey, making everything they see fuzzy with mist and a soft drizzle. The sides of the ravine are rocky and frighteningly steep, the top of them disappearing in the fog. The ravine is winding its way ahead as far as they’re able to see. 

The view doesn’t, to be honest, look particularly encouraging, sucking every ounce of daring and bravery out of them. At least that’s how it feels to Draco as he’s taking in their surrounding with narrowed eyes.

“We could risk walking around for days if we try to get out of here,” he says. “With no way of knowing where we are or the direction we’d walk in, I’m not inclined to just go ahead with no plan. Seems a bit haphazard if you ask me.”

But of course running off into the unknown like a reckless fool is exactly up Potter’s alley. He looks like he’s on the verge of walking down the ravine any second, come what may. 

“For Merlin’s sake, Potter, we need some sort of strategy here. I know you’re fond of barging ahead first and think things through later, but I hardly think that’s the best course of action here.”

Potter says nothing for a minute. Then he inhales deeply and says, “Maybe you’re right.”

“Of course I am.”

“We should talk about this before we decide what to do. See if we can figure out a bit more about what kind of place this is. Why it exists. And why we are here.”

Draco allows himself a second or two to gloat about Potter admitting that he’s right. Just a little.

The drizzle is quickly turning into rain, and Draco sees little point in getting any colder and wetter than he already is. He didn’t exactly dress for a trip to the forest when he left for work this morning, and he’s more than a little jealous of Potter’s warm Auror cloak. 

“Let’s go back inside the cave,” Draco says.

Once they’re back inside, the air feels a little less stifling than it did earlier. It’s still far from being cosy, but barring the occasional spot where it’s dripping from the ceiling, at least it doesn’t rain on them in here.

“Apple?” 

“Excuse me?” Draco turns towards Potter who’s inexplicably holding an apple out to him.

“Would you like an apple?”

“No, I wouldn’t.” Draco hates apples, and he hardly thinks that eating should be their number one priority at this point.

Potter shrugs and takes a bite. “Suit yourself. I’ve got more if you change your mind.”

“I just...” Draco starts again. “Who’s walking around with apples in the pockets of their uniform? Is that even allowed?”

“I’d just arrived at work when all of this happened. I brought the apples from home and forgot to take them out, and we’re lucky I did, because in case you’ve forgotten, this is all we’ve got to eat. If you’re so stubborn that you’d rather go hungry than accept anything from me, that’s your decision, Malfoy.”

Draco sighs, feeling drained and tired. “That’s not what I meant. I simply wanted to get started on making a plan. But you’re right. We’ve got to eat.”

Potter doesn’t say anything, just quietly offers Draco another apple. This time Draco accepts, and for a few minutes all that can be heard in the cave is the two of them chewing and swallowing until they’ve eaten one big apple each.

And in some small way, it helps, if only a little, and at this point Draco is not above clinging to the positives wherever he can find them.

They walk around for a bit, looking for a dry spot where they can sit down. Once they find it, they instinctively sit close together, hoarding warmth from each other as best as they can.

“I have an idea,” Draco says. The thought has been lying there for a while, right at the edge of his consciousness. He’s not been able to grasp it until now, and now that he does, he almost wishes he hasn’t. It all makes a bit too much sense.

“I’ve heard stories.” Potter is watching him, listening intently. “At first when we came here I thought we might’ve been exposed to Squib’s Palsy. I’m sure you’ve heard of it, the way it results in loss of magical ability, especially in times of stress. But it doesn’t fit, not really. Squib’s Palsy doesn’t take away magic itself, only the ability to perform it. And this place... There’s no magic allowed in here at all.”

Potter nods. He pulls his cloak over them both, finally seeming to realise how cold Draco is. “I agree,” he says. “This isn’t because of something wrong with us. The lack of magic is linked to this place, the cave and the area around it.”

“Quite. And that’s when I started thinking of these stories I heard. Rumours that were being told during the war.”

Draco pauses and clears his throat. It’s almost as if it all becomes more real if he says it out loud. Which is a silly concept, and besides, he’s not even certain that his theory is correct.

“Back in the day when the Dark Lord was living at Malfoy Manner, before the war ended, there was an atmosphere of... Well, I suppose I don’t have to explain that it was an unpleasant one. The Dark Lord ruled by creating fear, and no one trusted anyone. There was no way to know which way the war would go, and after having witnessed some of the things I did, I very much dreaded what would come after no matter which side would come out on top. Mother and Father tried to keep me out of the worst of it, but there was no way to shield me from everything.”

Draco heaves a sigh, forcing himself to go on. Potter sits quietly next to him, letting him speak. “Sometimes I heard them talking. Mother and Father, I mean. I used to go hide sometimes, silly places, like behind the curtains in the library, or in dark cupboards no one ever used. Just to pretend that I had some actual time all to myself. An unintentional effect turned out to be that I overheard stuff that I wasn’t supposed to. Some of Father’s friends arguing. Reports from fighting with Dumbledore’s resistance group. Sometimes they were laughing at Father for being so weak now, behind his back, mind you. And sometimes I heard my parents talking, hushed conversations about how they could get their respected position back.

"Sometimes they talked about witches and wizards on the Dark Lord’s side who’d disappeared. Rumour among the Death Eaters was that the Dark Lord had places where he sent those who went against him. Places where magic was completely blocked, and that were so remote that it was impossible to get out of there without being able to use their magic. Apparently the Dark Lord saw this as a fitting punishment and the greatest of insults – strip away magic and basically turn those who went against him into Muggles. That should teach anyone how right he was, how useless Muggles are, how it was only just and reasonable that Wizardkind should rule over everyone else.”

The cave seems quieter than ever once Draco has finished talking. Potter’s eyes are very green even in the semi-darkness and remain focused on Draco as he bites his lip. 

“So,” he says eventually, “you think we’re at one of those places Voldemort used as punishment?”

“It all fits,” Draco says. “And I don’t know what else it could be, really. If it indeed is Neo Death Eaters who created the Portkey that led us here, it makes sense that they want to keep the Dark Lord’s heritage alive.”

“Which means,” Potter says, “that we’re dealing with someone with close connections to the original Death Eaters. Because this is far from common knowledge, it’s the first I’ve ever heard of it. It might also mean that it was no coincidence it’s the two of who were sent here. Maybe the two of us touching the Portkey is what set it off instead of a specific time like it usually is. Seems awfully convenient if we just happened to be there when it was set to activate. Nothing happened when it was only you touching it, but once I touched it as well... It's like it was cursed to be ready for the two of us.”

Draco looks at the way his hands are trembling in his lap. It’s subtle, but it’s there. He puts his hands underneath Potter’s cloak and ignores it. 

“I suppose so,” he says. “Or at least they probably planned for it to be someone working at the Ministry, someone investigating them. Makes sense that Weasley thought the Dark Curio was suspiciously easy to find. But where does all this leave us?” Draco’s brain is going into overdrive, trying to figure out how any of this can be turned into something actually useful. “We know what kind of place this is, or at least we think we do. But that doesn’t help us escape. The Dark Lord was very thorough when dealing out punishments, and I never heard of anyone getting away from such a place.”

Potter holds his gaze for a drawn-out moment. A part of Draco, a part that he doesn’t really want to acknowledge, is glad that Harry Potter is the one being in this mess with him. There’s something about Potter that makes Draco think maybe, just maybe, there’s a solution, even if he can’t see it yet.

Ridiculous notion.

“I doubt that Voldemort thought of everything,” Potter says. 

With Draco’s emotions all over the place and his nerves ready to explode any second, he quickly bounces back to exasperated annoyance. “I realise that you’ve defeated the Dark Lord with a flick of your wand and a basic little spell, Potter, but that doesn’t mean it’s a good idea to underestimate him. Trust me, I’ve seen him do things I never thought possible. How am I supposed to figure out a possible Counter Course without my magic?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Potter says. “Of course Voldemort is a dangerous opponent, even now in his death. But there will always be something that he’s failed to take into account, or something he’s underestimated the power of, something that he can’t bring into the equation simply because he’s never had any knowledge of it.”

Draco tries not to let his scepticism show too much, he really does. He’s fairly certain he’s doing a lousy job of it. “Like what?”

“Oh,” Potter hums, “I’m not really sure. Could be a number of things. Like love. Or sacrifice. Or loyalty for the sake of being loyal, not because one is afraid of punishment. These are all things that Voldemort either never knew or he greatly underestimated the power they hold in their own right.”

Draco looks at him, aware of his gaping mouth and raised eyebrows, but bloody hell, now Potter has really gone and lost it. “I’m ever so glad you told me,” he says, not even bothering to keep his voice calm. “Of course Dark Magic is that easy to conquer, this is wonderful news! We can pretty much stop having Curse Breaker training now, instead we can just sit down and hold hands and sing a nice little song about _friendship_ or _love_ or something, and before you know it, the problem is solved. Perfect!”

Deep down he knows he’s being unreasonable, knows that Potter hardly meant it like that. It’s just... he’d really been hoping for something a tad more down to earth. 

“That’s not, what?” Potter says. He’s quieter now, shuffling underneath his cloak, knocking into Draco’s knee with his own. “I don’t know the solution here, Malfoy. But with use of magic like this, there must be a way to undo it, and Voldemort being the way he was, I simply mean that the way to undo it may have something to do with these things. Things he didn’t deem important. You know what I mean?”

Draco does not, in fact, know what Potter means. Not really. What he does get is that Potter is being serious about this. That it’s something he feels strongly about. Maybe even that Potter has a story he could tell about this, a story Draco has never heard.

Unsure of what he should say and feeling out of his depth, he ends up with a mumbled, “If we need any of that stuff to get out of here, the two of us won’t have a chance at all.” 

Potter sighs and rakes a hand through his hair. “We’ll see,” he says.

Draco says nothing.

In spite of everything that’s happened and the uncertainty of their future, sleep is soon tugging at Draco. He yawns, once, twice, and then Potter says, “We might as well try and get some sleep. Maybe things will look clearer in the morning.”

Awkwardly, they lie down against the rocky wall. They don’t have to agree out loud that they should lie close together. It’s so cold in here it goes without saying that’s their best option if they want to keep any semblance of warmth. Draco is too tired to fight sleep for long, without really knowing why. Maybe his magic is so tightly linked to him that he’s not functioning well without it. Before long he falls asleep, curled against Potter’s back.

At some point during the night he’s half-dreaming, half-awake. He dreams of Mother. She’s wearing a dress he remembers from his childhood and she’s surrounded by white dreamlike mist. She hugs him and smiles, gently stroking his hair. “Remember,” she says, voice warm and hushed. “Remember what I told you about the night the Dark Lord was defeated. How he held all the power and how impossible it was for me to get to you, my darling. You know what kind of magic made it happen anyway?”

Even in his sleep Draco does know. And even in his sleep he has objections to raise. “I know,” he says. “You were so brave, Mother. But it was hardly magic, was it?”

Mother smiles again, softer this time. “It made the seemingly impossible happen. What would you call it if not magic? Maybe not the kind you’re thinking of, but love can work miracles in its own way. Remember that, my darling.” 

She removes his hand from his hair and gives him a little wave, slowly disappearing into the white mist, little by little. Then Draco wakes up.

Draco is usually not one to remember his dreams. After the war all he can remember when he wakes up tends to be feelings of dread and horror, accompanied by cold sweat on his skin and quick heavy breathing. He doesn’t know if not remembering the nightmares make them more frightening or less.

But this time... This was different.

He scoffs, twisting around on the hard surface, trying to find a better position. The dream is probably just a coincidence. He’s thinking of Mother because he’s afraid. It’s only natural that she pops up in his half-awake dream. 

“Malfoy?”

Draco’s not certain if Potter was already awake or if Draco woke him up with his turning around. “Yes?”

“Can’t sleep?” 

Potter embarks in a bit of shuffling around himself, until he settles in behind Draco, this time with his chest against Draco’s back. 

“Not the most comfortable place to sleep,” Potter says, quite needlessly so, but Draco finds that he rather enjoys a human voice in his ear, so he says nothing about it.

Instead he surprises himself by saying, “The last time we slept this close together, the mattress was a bit softer.”

Potter huffs out a laugh. “I thought you’d decided to never mention that night.”

So Potter has noticed that much. It’s true, and has been true ever since he stepped out of Potter’s flat with his heart in his throat that morning five years ago. Draco has no idea why he brought it up now. Maybe it’s because he’s still not quite awake. Maybe it’s because they may never find their way back home so he might as well talk about it. Maybe it’s because Mother’s presence from his dream is still lingering. 

“When did I say that I didn’t want to talk about it?”

“You didn’t, not in so many words, but you sort of seemed to avoid me afterwards.” Potter nudges Draco’s arm. “Was I really that bad in bed?”

He says it playfully, and maybe he only means it as a joke, but Draco startles anyway. 

“Of course not,” he says, because for some reason he doesn’t want Potter to think about their night together like that. His memories from back then are painful and embarrassing and he prefers not to think about them, but still, in its own fucked up way it was _important._ Significant for better and for worse. It feels horribly wrong for it all to be turned into a joke.

“That’s not it at all. I just... tend to not think about it.”

Merlin, it would be so much easier to have this conversation while wearing his usual armour around his heart, the armour that’s now stripped away by circumstances and fatigue and fear of never coming home. Then again, if his usual armour was up, they probably wouldn’t have this conversation in the first place.

“Why don’t you want to think about it?” Potter says. He’s unfairly warm and solid and weirdly familiar in a way he shouldn’t be against Draco’s back, his voice right into Draco’s ear. “The way I remember it we were rather enjoying ourselves. I mean, I know I was.”

“I was as well, it’s not...” A couple of water drops are falling from the ceiling and onto Draco’s forehead, trickling down to his nose. He sniffs, no longer certain if it’s just the drops of water or something else. It’s all too much and Draco can’t _think_ straight, can’t collect his thoughts into one coherent sentence except for the unrelenting _to hell with it_ and then he says it, before he can talk himself out of it, “You broke my fucking heart, Potter.”

Draco can sense Potter immediately stiffening behind him. His hand, lying over Draco’s side, clenches and then unclenches, and _fuck fuck fuck,_ Draco is such an idiot. 

Potter is breathing very loud all of a sudden. It sounds like he opens and shuts his mouth a few times. Draco closes his eyes.

“I did? I mean – ” It’s rare to hear Potter so uncertain. It doesn’t make Draco feel any better. “Did I say anything to give you the impression that I... That it was going to be more than one night together? Because if I did...”

Potter sighs. “If I did then I’m very sorry. That was certainly not my intention.” He sounds breathy and hesitant. Draco’s heartbeat is pulsing in his ears, and he doesn’t want to open his eyes again, because if he does it all becomes more real. Even if he can’t actually see Potter in their current position.

“I didn’t realise until way after that maybe we could have, I dunno, seen if it was anything more between us,” Potter says. “But by then you’d stopped speaking to me. So. It was not much point in thinking about it.”

Wait, what? Potter’s voice and Potter’s words are taking up all the room in Draco’s head, because _what?_

“What do you mean, Potter?” 

“Huh?”

Draco turns around, quickly, and opens his eyes without thinking about it. It’s like he can’t bear another second of this conversation without seeing Potter, without looking him in the eye and trying to read his meaning that way. 

“What did you mean, ‘you didn’t realise until later’, what exactly did you realise?”

Potter’s eyes are wide, but then they always seem to be a bit, so Draco has no idea if it means anything. He isn’t proud of the fact that he’s _this_ close to shoving at Potter a little when the reply is taking too long. 

“It’s not like it was some kind of mind-blowing revelation, Malfoy. I just started noticing you more in training and stuff. How hard you worked, and how much you’d grown as a person. That you’d turned your experiences in the war into something positive. Moving forward, you know. It was an example to those around you, in a way. That our future doesn’t have to be determined by our past. And I thought about that and I thought about how good our night together was, not just the sex, I mean. And sometimes I wondered if maybe you and I could’ve been good together.”

He shuffles a bit, drops his hand form Draco’s side and hides it underneath the cloak. “It doesn’t matter, really. I suppose we’ll never find out.”

If someone had asked Draco what possessed him to do it, he couldn’t have given a good answer. His mind is utter chaos, but Potter has just said he’s thought about them together and that Draco was an example for others, and maybe they could still have this, and Draco can’t think of anything to say to convey what he’s thinking so instead he leans forward and captures Potter’s mouth in a kiss.

He lifts a hand to Potter’s hair, and Potter flinches, just a little, just for a second, and then he’s kissing back.

It might be clumsy and a bit too urgent, but it doesn’t matter. Draco hasn’t felt anyone’s lips onto his in _five years,_ and now he’s kissing Potter again, and all thoughts of being careful with his heart are vanished from his mind. 

They’re lying chest to chest, and with a soft moan Potter parts his lips. His breath isn’t the freshest, but neither is his own, and it doesn’t matter at all. 

Draco feels like he’s drunk. He doesn’t know where to put his hands so he keeps them in Potter’s hair, gently threading his fingers through Potter’s messy curls. Draco hasn’t had so much as a bloody wank in ages, and he’s dizzy with how much he wants this. 

Potter’s chest expands against his own, his breathing is fast and shallow, but then Potter drags his teeth over Draco’s lower lip and Draco all but forgets to breathe altogether. Potter’s fingers glide down Draco’s back, skimming the waistband of his trousers. He gropes Draco’s arse and grinds against him, Merlin, this is going to be over embarrassingly fast. Draco can feel how hard Potter is even through the layers of clothes, and he’s so lost in this that he barely notices how Potter has worked quietly to undo their trousers before they’re halfway down to their knees.

Draco pants against Potter’s lips, muffling his moans. He wants to hitch up one of his legs to get better friction, but with his trousers still caught around his thighs, he just keeps rutting into Potter. 

It’s bordering on being painful, doing this on the cold hard surface, with the skin of his hip rubbing against a sharp edge on the cave floor, but it’s so insignificant compared to the feel of Potter’s mouth and hands and skin. When he comes, Draco screws his eyes shut against the burn rolling through his pelvis and his entire body. 

Potter follows a few seconds later, and then nothing can be heard except their laboured breath.

“Maybe,” Potter says eventually, “when we get back home, we could try going on a date?”

And it makes no sense, no sense at all in their current situation. But when Draco minutes later closes his eyes and falls asleep again with his face tucked against Potter’s neck, he feels satisfied and warm and inexplicably _hopeful._

When Draco wakes up again, Potter isn’t there. A brief flash of panic makes its way through Draco’s mind before he sees Potter standing by the exit, eating an apple. 

“Good morning,” Potter says. 

“I suppose that remains to be seen,” Draco says, and they’re both thinking the same thing. They must find a way to get back home today. They’ve got nothing to eat except Potter’s apples, and there can’t be many of those left, and neither of them has had anything to drink expect the juice in the apples since they left the Ministry. There’s just nothing to be found here. The Dark Lord chose this place wisely. 

Draco gets to his feet and stumbles towards Potter, limbs stiff and stomach growling. There are still after effects from what happened last night lingering, soothing the harsh truth of their circumstances. But they can’t survive on sex and vague plans for the future. 

“I reckon we should go outside,” Potter says while offering Draco an apple, “and try to follow the path. See if we can find somewhere to get us back or maybe alert someone.”

They share a look. “I know, I know. If we could simply walk out of this area, everyone would’ve done it. But I really prefer to be active, to try ourselves rather than waiting here for something that most likely won’t happen.”

Draco knows he’s right. He can’t really explain what’s holding him back.

He gives himself no time to ponder before he gives Potter a nod. “Okay,” he says. After all, anything is better than staying here, waiting for death. He gets his legs to move without having to tell them too harshly.

The tunnel isn’t wide enough to fit them side by side, so they enter one after the other, walking through it until they’re outside. Nothing has changed since yesterday, not even the fog and the drizzle. The hillsides on each side of the narrow ravine are still inaccessible and threatening. So they do the only thing they can do – they follow the path at the bottom of the ravine.

After that, Draco loses his sense of time. It feels like they’re walking for hours, yet only minutes all the same. They don’t talk much. Parts of Draco want to ask Potter if he still means what he said yesterday, about them going on a date. Parts of him wonder if he really wants to open himself up to all that again. He's immersed himself in work, avoiding situations that could lead to possible heartbreak for so long now that he hardly knows how to do anything else.

First things first, though. First they have to find their way back.

Around one curve they both stop at the same time, tripping in each other’s feet. “Oh,” Potter says, and Draco supposes that sums it all up. The path they’ve followed doesn’t go any further. They’ve reached the end of the ravine, and all they can see are steep rocky walls on all sides, except the direction from where they just came.

“Seems like,” Draco says, clearing his throat. “Seems like our only choices are going back to the cave or trying to climb up one of these slippery, not to mention _vertical_ walls.” 

“Seems like it,” Potter says, and before he’s even finished talking he’s off to examine the walls, tapping a bit here and letting his hand glide over the mountainside there, tilting his head back and looking up as far as he can.

“I think,” he says after a while, “that it’s not quite as impossible as it may look.”

Is he fucking kidding? “Yes, Potter, it’s just as impossible as it looks. Have you gone blind?”

“I’m not saying it’s easy, Malfoy. But there are a few places where it might be possible to place a foot or hold onto something with our hands. Maybe. I say we go for it. I mean, what other choices do we have?”

Draco can’t bring himself to say that he agrees, that it might work, that it’s a slight chance they might survive the climb. None of it feels true.

Instead he says, “Okay,” making his voice as steady as possible. Somewhere down the line it seems Potter must’ve rubbed off on him, turning him into this reckless mess his fellow Slytherins would’ve been embarrassed to call their peer. 

Deep down he knows it’s more about him already having given up. 

Might as well give it a go.

They spend some time trying to decide where they can find the safest route. “You mean the one with only ninety nine percent death rate as opposed to the rest of them with one hundred percent,” Draco says. 

“Something like that,” Potter hums. He turns to Draco, stepping closer until their feet are almost touching.

“I wish,” he says, softly, “that last night had happened under different circumstances. Very different, obviously. But I’m still glad it did happen. I just wanted you to know that, in case we… Well.”

His words are sending a trickle of heat through Draco’s heart, inappropriately so, for someone about to embark upon one of the most dangerous things he's ever done. 

“Did you know,” Draco says, because fuck it all, now is not the time to hold back, “that you’re part of the reason why I applied for Curse Breaker training? Not like – I don’t mean that I applied directly because of you, but with all that happened during the war, and how you behaved after the war, talking about looking ahead once the trials were over... It gave me the push that I needed.”

Potter smiles then, and maybe it’s a little watery. It’s hard to tell when Draco has to blink away a tear or two himself.

And then Potter leans in and kisses Draco, soft and languid. It tells Draco all he needs to know, and at that point he realises with startling clarity: he would’ve stayed here if it meant that Potter got to go home. The thought shocks him. It might not be a very _Slytherin_ thought, or even a _Draco Malfoy_ thought, and this is _Potter_ he's talking about, but it can't be helped. The thought is there, and Draco knows it's true.

That option is not in the cards for them though. After another, less soft, but no less mindblowing kiss, they start climbing the route they’ve agreed upon, the one where they see at least a sliver of hope of making it to the top and whatever awaits them there. Draco’s legs give out only a few steps in, but he grabs whatever he can find on the rocky surface until his fingers are whitening and he keeps on going. 

Potter is right behind him, Draco can feel his hand against his foot every now and then. He hits his shoulder against a protrusion, but he hardly notices, not when his entire body is shaking from exhaustion and fear. He makes the mistake of looking down, and even if they haven’t actually made it very far up the mountainside, it still looks awfully far down from up here. Potter gives him a shaky nod, and then they’re back to it. 

Just when Draco starts thinking that maybe, maybe they’ve got a tiny chance of actually making it to where he’s glimpsing the top through the fog, a thunderous, roaring sound is filling the air. Piles of rubble and gravel and dust are falling down, hitting them on all limbs. Draco instinctively tries to curl his head down, but there’s not much space for him to move, and one rock hits his head with a nauseating, cracking sound. 

He loses his balance and his shaky grip, desperately tries to find it again but to no avail. And then he’s falling.

A hand is gripping his ankle. “Be safe, Harry!” Draco thinks as it all goes black even before he hits the ground.

Draco blinks. The light is so damned bright, but he needs to know. He opens his eyes and finds himself on a sofa in what looks like an office at the Ministry.

“Merlin,” he mumbles. “I must be immortal.”

“Not quite, but close enough.” The voice is coming from a few feet away, and when Draco turns his head to see who’s there, he’s faced with none other than Ron Weasley. 

“How do you feel?” Weasley asks, putting his hands in the pockets of his Auror uniform. 

Draco sits up gingerly, a little dizzy and with a roaring headache, but otherwise he’s not feeling too bad for someone who just fell down a bloody mountainside. 

“I’m okay, I suppose. My head hurts,” he says, rubbing his eyes with numb fingers. His fingernails have taken a beating from his climb, and his hands are covered in cuts and bruises. 

"No wonder," Weasley says. "Looks like you took quite a beating to your head." 

“Where’s Potter?” He lifts his head and looks at Weasley, ignoring how his voice shivers. He can't hold the question back.

“Harry's fine,” Weasley says, and Draco has to bite back a sob. Dear God, maybe he’s not quite himself yet after all.

“You both came in at the same time, it seems. One of the Senior Aurors found you when she went to pick up some evidence for her case, the two of you were lying on the floor next to the Dark Curio. I understand Harry had brought in a Curse Breaker to this case. You, I presume?”

“I was assigned to it, yes.”

Weasley _ah’s_ and tilts his head, narrowing his eyes. “Yes, I was wondering if you’d started volunteering to work with Harry all of a sudden.”

So apparently Harry isn’t the only one who’s noticed. Wonderful. 

“Anyway,” Weasley says, “Harry is lying in the office next to here. He’s probably waking up about now.” 

Draco is on his feet before Weasley has even finished the sentence. “What?” he says at Weasley’s raised eyebrows. “I’m allowed to worry about my colleague, aren’t I?”

“By all means.” Weasley looks like he wants to say more, but thankfully he finds it more important to check on his friend. “Let’s go.”

When the sun has set later that day and the Ministry is slowly emptying of visitors and employees, Draco is exhausted. Not that he wasn’t already after the last twenty four hours, so it’s little wonder, perhaps, that he now feels more tired than he can remember being in years. 

The Ministry Medi Wizard did a thorough examination of both him and Potter once they came to, and Draco gets it, he does. That didn’t stop him from shuffling impatiently, itching to get an update from the Aurors who’d been working on the case in their absence, or to check the cursed Dark Curio – literally anything but being stuck on an examination bench. 

But eventually he was released – fit as a fairy, the Medi Wizard said after using a couple of well chosen Healing Spells – and Draco hasn’t had time to sit down ever since. Now he’s found a chair in the café, has finally had a decent meal, and he’s ready to go home. Something, _or someone, be honest with yourself, Draco_ is holding him back.

He’s seen Potter a lot during the day, but they haven’t had a chance to talk. Draco has wanted to. Now he honestly doesn’t know what he wants. His thoughts fly to the rushed conversation he just had with Blaise. Quite embarrassing to be honest, being reduced to having an emergency fire-call from the (thankfully empty) Curse Breaker Headquarter, to Blaise Fucking Zabini of all people, who's still an idiot, and who Draco still loves very much. And he didn't even fire-call to talk about the near death experience he's had, but to talk to him about bloody Harry Potter. Seeking dating advice from his notoriously single best friend - Draco can't believe this is his life now.

“Talk to him," Blaise said through the fire, seemingly getting ready for bed. Merlin, is it so late already? "Talking has always been your problem, you know. The two of you don’t exactly excel when it comes to communication.”

It's possible Blaise has a point.

“Hi, Malfoy.”

Draco whips his head around to see a slightly dishevelled Potter standing a few tables away, clutching a cup of tea in one hand. 

“Are you in a rush?” he says, his eyes flickering from Draco’s tea to the vacant chair beside him.

Draco shakes his head. “Not really. A bit tired, but I’ve got the weekend off so I can probably manage to stay awake a little while longer.”

Potter takes that as the invitation it is and sits down next to him, nodding briefly at a couple of witches passing by before turning his attention back to Draco. 

“What a day, huh?”

Draco nods, not really knowing what to say now that the chance is here.

“I can’t believe Ron and his team have arrested the Neo Death Eaters,” Potter says.

“Apparently they’re not completely useless in your absence, Potter.”

“Apparently not.” Potter takes a sip and sets his cup down onto the table with a soft clink. “Wicked business that the two of us were targeted specifically, though. It does make it all a lot creepier.”

“I suppose. Not terribly surprising though, now that we know more about them. Who knew the Carrows had so many bitter relatives? Of course they hate you, and apparently I’m pretty high on the list of people to hate as well for joining the Ministry force and betraying my background or some rubbish like that.”

Potter leans back in his chair, yawning into his arm. “You can read the full report whenever you feel like it. It’s all there, how the group aimed to taking over the Ministry. But they wanted too much too soon and left too many traces. In the end it was the Dark Curio that led Ron and the others to them. Not a lot of places to get those artifacts, and the sales wizard at Borgin and Burkes cracked eventually.”

“The report is a fascinating read, I’m sure,” Draco says, for once without any trace of sarcasm.

“It is. Although hardly as fascinating as it was to watch you during your ritual today. Breaking down the curse until you could do the counter-curse on the Dark Curio. You did really well, Malfoy.”

Funny, isn’t it, how it’s still so hard to accept a simple compliment from Potter. “It was fairly easy, actually," he scoffs. "I only needed to lift the curse designed to increase our urge to touch the object. Far less draining than what these rituals often turn out to be, since the magic that took us back here had nothing to do with the curses on the Dark Artifact. What was it your Auror team said – our willingness to put the other one’s life ahead of our own when faced with immediate danger made the hate that everything in the cave depended on lose its force? Weird. I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

Potter takes another sip. "From what I understand, the magic in the cave and the area surrounding it needs hate to feed upon to block magic and to keep anyone there. I'm guessing people were usually sent there by themselves and spent the time there hating on Voldemort, and unknowingly making the magic that kept them there even stronger. Lucky for us that Voldemort depended on hate. It was actually possible to erase what he'd done to create that place so we couldn't be kept there anymore." 

Silence settles, only disrupted by one or two Ministry workers stopping by the café to grab something on their way home. Draco wants to know more about the case and the people arrested, he really does. And he’s going to. But right now it feels like they’re both postponing something even more important.

Draco closes his eyes, just for a minute, exhaustion and confusion and stupid _want_ are all mingling to create a true mess of his already jumbled up thoughts. Close beside him sits Harry Potter, the very person who broke his heart, even if he didn’t mean to, but little did that help nineteen year old Draco who never let himself get involved with anyone again, shielding his heart from the lurking pain.

For Merlin’s sake, Draco is a Curse Breaker, a grown wizard who’s just come out of a life-threatening situation. He should be able to ask Potter one simple question. 

But Potter beats him to it. “Apparently it wasn’t _just_ willingness to put each other’s lives first that was needed to counter the loss of magic. Love is also needed. Or at least the seed of it. The potential for it.”

Potter’s voice is soft and tentative. Draco lifts his head and their eyes meet. There’s so much about this he doesn’t understand, but impossibly it seems they’re in this together, whatever this is. Maybe they can actually have their second chance. Maybe he should actually risk it. Draco’s walls crack like eggshells.

“So what do you say?” Potter says, leaning forward and letting his hand fall on Draco’s shoulder, rubbing gently against the fabric of his shirt. “Do you want to go on a date with me and see what this might lead to? Sometime this weekend maybe?”

This is all surreal as fuck, but so have the entire last two days been, so Draco rather thinks it fits nicely when a bubble of joy comes to life inside his chest, as corny as it sounds. It’s still the best way to describe it.

“Where do you want to go then, Potter?”

Potter releases a shaky breath, and doesn’t he know _anything_? Did he think that Draco was going to turn him down? As if that was ever happening. 

“Wherever you want,” Potter says. “I do have one condition though.”

“Oh?”

“That you’ll call me Harry.”

Draco just smiles at him, because he can, because this is _actually happening_ , could someone please come pinch his arm right this very second.

“I’ll think about it,” he says. 

Potter’s - Harry's - face explodes in the widest smile Draco has seen in a long time. “You do that, Draco,” he says. “You do think about it.”

Draco smiles back. He lays his hand on top of Harry's, and he remembers what happiness feels like.


End file.
